


felt it in my chest when she looked at me

by pirateygoodness



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Punk, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>They meet in chem lab.</em> Punk rock/college AU fic, inspired by <a href="http://tantoun.tumblr.com/post/130956032423/fierce-collection-jemma-simmons-full-size">this</a> drawing of Jemma by @tantoun on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	felt it in my chest when she looked at me

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is a line from "Shut Up And Dance" by Walk The Moon

They meet in chem lab. Well - they’ve been in the same class all semester, so it’s not like they’re fully strangers, but lab is the first time they talk. 

It also happens to be the first lab session to which Jemma arrives late, fresh from a row with Fitz. (But, in her defense, he deserved it. _You’re never going to meet anyone nice with green hair and scribbles all over your arm,_ honestly.) She runs a hand through her hair - teal, this week, _not_ green - and sighs as she sets down her things. Her usual lab bench is already taken, so she’s obliged to sit in the only free seat left, a two-person desk at the back of the room. 

There’s already someone there - another student. Jemma recognizes her, sort of - she's cute, and more than once Jemma's caught herself getting distracted in lecture by her ponytail and her taste in hair colour. Her hair is blonde, with navy at the ends (this week), and it looks gorgeous curled up at the base of her head in her usual ponytail. “That’s cool,” the other girl whispers, as Jemma takes out her lab notebook and pencil. 

Jemma looks up. “What?” she says, in a stunned tone that she’s not particularly proud of. 

The other girl is smiling at Jemma, pointing to her wrist. Getting her things out has made Jemma's sleeve ride up a little bit, and her latest tattoo (the one Fitz took particular issue with) is visible. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just - your tattoo. It’s cool.” 

“Oh,” Jemma replies, smiling a little. She rubs the wrist in question, running her thumb across the slightly raised lines of ink that hasn’t quite healed. “Thank you. It’s, um. It’s still healing.”

“It’s still badass. Dopamine, right?”

Jemma blushes. She feels breathless, slightly giddy, likely due to a rush of that very neurotransmitter (and a little serotonin, which, incidentally, is tattooed onto her other wrist). “Yeah,” she says. 

The other girl smiles and extends her hand. “I’m Bobbi,” she says. 

Jemma’s never met a girl who goes by a guy’s name, before, but on Bobbi it completely works. As she accepts the handshake, she feels a thrill of attraction just above her diaphragm. Bobbi’s smile is just wide enough to light her up, and she keeps looking at Jemma like she’s _interested_. 

It takes Jemma a few moments before she realizes that she’s staring at Bobbi, holding her hand, not speaking. “Jemma,” she finally manages. “I’m Jemma.” 

“Hi,” Bobbi says. Her hand is warm and soft, black nail polish picking up the light just enough to make Jemma think about her fingers. 

Jemma releases Bobbi’s hand with as much dignity as she can manage. She gives herself space to inhale and exhale, slowly, as she turns to look at the front of the lab. Everyone else has started working on the day's assignment. “We should probably, um -“

“Right,” Bobbi says. 

Bobbi turns to her books, and Jemma does the same. She does her lab work - excellently, as always - but it’s harder for her to focus than she’d like. Bobbi keeps _watching_ her, smiling every so often, and it sends shivers up Jemma’s spine every time. 

 

They don't talk again until the end of the lab session, when Jemma's just starting to pack up her things. Bobbi looks over, and leans across the space between them so that she's at Jemma's eye level. Her eyes flick from Jemma’s face to her wrist and back again, taking her in. She's got this look on her face, watching Jemma like she sort of wants to taste her, and it’s - god, it’s _nice._

“It was really great to meet you, Jemma,” Bobbi says. It’s an invitation, an opening to a conversation that Jemma desperately wants to have. 

“Likewise,” Jemma replies. “So, um. Where are you working on the lab report for this week?” 

Bobbi shrugs, her shoulder moving up and back in this easy, fluid movement that Jemma could watch over and over again. “Well, I usually do my lab reports on my own,” she says. “But if you wanted to go out for a drink sometime, I’d be interested.”

Jemma’s mouth goes dry. Because Bobbi is tall and beautiful and _good at chemistry_ and she’d be _interested in drinks._ This is not how her lab sessions usually go. It takes her a minute before she manages to say, “Yes. Thank you. I mean, yes.”

Bobbi smiles. “So, drinks then?” 

Jemma thinks about trying to speak again, but opts for the much safer option of nodding. 

Bobbi picks up her bag and gives Jemma that once-over look again, smile growing just a bit wider. “Tomorrow night? The Boiler Room?”

The Boiler Room is one of Jemma’s favourite spots - just divey enough to feel like someplace Jemma wants to be, not so divey that she’s nervous about it - and god, of _course_ Bobbi would have good taste in bars. “Absolutely,” Jemma says, finding her voice. “Eight o’clock.”

“Sounds good.” 

 

+

 

The next night, Jemma’s waiting at her favourite table at 7:55, nervous enough that she’s already halfway into her first pint. 

She’s a little concerned that Bobbi will meet her and she won’t know what to say, but also worried that Bobbi won’t show up at all. Honestly, she can’t decide which she’d prefer. Instead of trying to sort that out in her mind, she's looking at her phone, alternating between scrolling through Instagram without really seeing it and texting with her roommate. 

It's not until she hears a voice next to her that she looks up. “Hey,” Bobbi says. She lifts an arm to wave and sits in the chair across from Jemma in what seems like one movement. 

In this setting, Bobbi’s even more attractive than before, almost blindingly so. She’s wearing a tank top, a really tight one, and a skirt that makes her legs look a million miles long (because they _are_ a million miles long, and Jemma can’t believe she hadn’t noticed that, before). She shrugs her jacket off, and as she does, Jemma realizes that she’s got a tattoo across her chest. It's some kind of bird, starting at her pectoral muscle and the upper swell of her left breast and ending at the edge of her collarbone. 

“Hi,” Jemma says, suddenly breathless. “You made it.” 

Bobbi smiles, like she likes that Jemma’s a little bit flustered. Which is probably for the best - Jemma doesn’t think she’ll ever stop being feeling this way around Bobbi. 

They order drinks - another beer for Jemma, a whiskey sour for Bobbi - and slowly settle into the evening. The first drink is mostly Jemma trying not to make an arse of herself, and discovering that to be easier than she'd expected. Bobbi, for all that she’s beautiful, is also very easy to talk to. Plus, it turns out that they have a lot in common besides their mutual chem lab. Bobbi’s thinking of going to grad school for chemistry, while Jemma’s leaning toward biochem, but there’s a lot of overlap, there. It’s nice - god, it’s nice - to have someone to talk to about science who isn’t _Fitz_ , and it doesn’t hurt that Bobbi looks the way she does, either. 

The second drink is much easier, and by the end of it, Jemma’s forearm is on the table and Bobbi keeps reaching out and drawing on it with her fingertips, sending sparks all the way up Jemma's arm. Bobbi’s so good at touching, and she’s got this ring on her middle finger and Jemma can’t stop thinking about how it would feel running across her skin. 

Dimly, Jemma's aware of where they are, of the fact that there's a band setting up on the stage nearby. There’s nearly always a band setting up at The Boiler Room, but the odds of them actually playing anything before midnight aren't particularly favorable. Tonight’s band, however, seems to have themselves mostly together. Just before Jemma can suggest a third round of drinks, the crunch of guitars - turned up to eleven, naturally - rings out through the room, effectively ending any attempt at conversation. 

Bobbi just smiles, and draws one fingertip from Jemma’s elbow to the space between her thumb and her index finger. “Dance with me?” she asks. 

The only reasonable answer is, “Yes.”

 

Jemma doesn’t really dance, but then, they’re not really dancing. The band is playing a song that’s mostly screaming and fast chord changes, and it’s - well, there are people trying to dance, but it’s mostly jumping and elbows and screaming right back at the band. Bobbi leads her to the edge of the crowd, where there’s a bit more space to stand together. She positions herself at Jemma’s back, one hand on her hip, and _oh_ , Jemma can feel Bobbi leaning against her back, soft and warm. Bobbi moves closer in, hips rocking gently against Jemma’s, and slowly, they start to match the pace of the music. 

After a while, Bobbi’s hand edges from Jemma’s hip to somewhere closer to her midline, fingers splaying out against her belly. Jemma reaches down, lacing their fingers together. Slowly, she feels a shift at her back as Bobbi leans down, and then there’s the tickle of hair against her arm and Bobbi is pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Her mouth is warm and wet and probably sweet, and _oh_ does Jemma ever want to know how she tastes. She lets herself show it, a sort of full-body shiver that makes Bobbi chuckle against her skin. 

Jemma turns, so that they’re dancing front to front. She’s not sure they’re even moving in time to the band, but that’s not really the point. She glances up just as Bobbi looks down, and her nose brushes against Jemma's cheek and then: _yes._

Bobbi’s mouth is exactly as sweet as she’d hoped for. Jemma can taste liquor and lemon and soft lips sliding against her own, as she sighs into Bobbi’s mouth. Their kiss starts off tentative, and then not so tentative, and then there’s a few minutes where all Jemma can think about is _lips_. 

The next thing she notices is that her back is against a wall at the edge of the dance floor. Which is good, because it gives her something to lean against and angle herself upward. Bobbi is gorgeous but also _tall_ , and Jemma wants her so badly that she can hardly stand it. She rises up on her toes, one leg wrapping around Bobbi's thigh and Bobbi's mouth is so hungry, kissing her like she wants to devour her and Jemma wants to let her, so much. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Bobbi says against her ear, voice warm and rough and full of promise. 

Jemma nods. As she pulls back, she realizes that her lipstick is a bright red stain across the side of Bobbi’s cheek. She wipes at it with her thumb, thinking of all the other places she wants to leave marks.

 

They end up at Jemma’s place. 

Or, rather - they end up outside The Boiler Room kissing against a wall, and then Jemma murmurs something about living around the corner and they fumble their way down the three blocks it takes to get there, all but crashing through the front door. Jemma winces, hoping her roommate doesn't decide to investigate, and locks the door behind them. 

The tumble into Jemma’s bedroom and onto her bed and it’s a near thing getting her bedroom door shut but they manage, barely. Then it’s Jemma on her back on her bed and Bobbi hovering over her, eyes dark and eyeliner smeared, nose ring glinting in what little light there is. Something in her expression is soft, as she brushes hair away from Jemma’s face and smiles. “You’re so hot,” she whispers. 

Jemma feels herself lighting up in the face of Bobbi’s compliments. "No, you," she whispers back, reaching up to wrap blue curls around her fingertips and tug Bobbi nearer.

Bobbi leans down, pressing kisses to Jemma’s collarbone, her sternum, the tops of her breasts. Her lipstick is black, tonight, and it’s mostly smudged off from drinking (and kissing) earlier but there’s still enough to leave trails along Jemma’s skin, making her feel marked, and _oh_ she feels that right between her legs. 

There’s a long, fumbling moment where they both struggle with tank tops and underwear and zippers, and when they come back together, they're both naked. Bobbi leaves wet, bruising kisses across Jemma’s skin, a dozen little marks that she’ll be able to find the next day and god Jemma’s so _hot_ for her. For this. She's just hot, and eager, and it's not long before Bobbi is using fingers and mouth to make her arch up, shuddering and shuddering until she's so, so spent. 

After - after Bobbi straddling Jemma with her hips, after the two of them bumping fingers between Bobbi's legs until she comes, loud cries & slickness against Jemma’s belly - is nice as well. Jemma always gets cuddly, afterwards, and it’s not - she doesn’t want to be needy, doesn’t know what Bobbi likes to do after sex. 

She nuzzles into Bobbi’s side, running a tentative, lazy hand along her breast-ribs-hip. “Oh,” Bobbi whispers. 

“We don’t have to - I can walk you out, if you don’t want to stay.” 

Bobbi looks her up and down. Her lipstick is all kissed away, and her expression is sleepy, soft. “It’s fine,” she mumbles, running a hand through Jemma’s hair and working out the tangles. “I like it here.” 

She leans back, and lets Jemma settle on top of her, head resting on her shoulder as she drifts to sleep. 

 

+

 

The next morning, Bobbi’s still there, and still very _very_ pretty. 

Jemma wakes up slowly, mouth dry. She’s dimly aware of something warm underneath her cheek, and it takes her a moment before she registers that it’s _Bobbi_ , that she’s been using her as a pillow the entire night. There’s something tickling her scalp, and it takes another few seconds before she realizes that it’s Bobbi’s hand, combing through her hair over and over, to wake her up. “Hey you,” Bobbi says, voice sweet. 

Jemma looks up, smiling. Bobbi’s eyeliner is smudged in the best possible way, and she looks soft-eyed and drowsy, like she only just woke up herself. Her hair is tangled around her like a halo, and she’s still naked, and she did _not_ get any less attractive overnight. “Hey,” Jemma whispers. 

Bobbi’s hand slides from Jemma’s hair and down her back, rubbing across the length of her spine, and Jemma’s feels a little frisson of, _yes please._ But she’s also - suddenly - acutely aware of the fact that she has to pee, that she should probably get up and do that, first. She leans away from Bobbi - reluctantly - and gets out of bed, slipping into clean underwear and her tank and jeans from the night before. “I’ll be right back?” she asks. 

“Of course,” Bobbi says. Before Jemma can leave, Bobbi grabs her by the front of her tank and pulls her in for a kiss, quick and impulsive. 

 

When Jemma leaves the bathroom, Bobbi’s in the hall outside, looking like maybe she had the same idea. She’s dressed - sort of - in her underwear and tank top. It's a fantastic look for her. 

Jemma doesn’t want to loiter, so she goes into the kitchen to make some coffee. Bobbi seems like the type of person who would drink coffee. She fusses with the filter, gets everything going, and lets herself get a little lost watching the first few drips of coffee into the pot, steam gently rising. She finds two mugs in the dish rack - clean - and when she turns around, Bobbi's out of the bathroom and watching her. 

“Hey,” Bobbi says, crossing the kitchen and leaning in close. 

“Hi,” Jemma says back. 

“Put those down,” Bobbi says. 

Jemma sets the cups down on the counter, and as soon as she does, there are hands at her hips and Bobbi is lifting her up. She sets Jemma down on the counter, one thigh on each side of Bobbi's body. Almost immediately, Jemma realizes the value of the position. Like this, she's not too far from Bobbi's eye level, and in just the right position to wrap her ankles aroud Bobbi's waist. "We can drink coffee in a little while,” Bobbi says, and her voice is low and rough, and _oh._ The coffee can probably wait. 

Bobbi leans in, and her mouth is just as sweet as the night before and _god_ , she’s such a good kisser. Jemma sighs, one hand reaching up to cup Bobbi’s jaw while her leg pulls Bobbi in close, hips already searching for contact. Bobbi chuckles against her mouth, and slides one hand across Jemma’s belly and under her tank. Jemma’s already whimpering, breaking away from Bobbi’s kiss every so often to sigh and she’s so _pretty_ and - 

“Hey, Jemma, I thought I smelled coffee. Is there any more -“

Jemma breaks away from Bobbi’s mouth, panting. Her roommate is standing in the kitchen doorway, sleepy and rumpled in her usual boxer shorts and a tank top. “Daisy,” Jemma says, voice half-strangled. She’s trying for casual, but there’s absolutely nothing casual about the way Jemma’s wrapped around the half-naked woman in their kitchen. 

Jemma leans closer to Bobbi’s body, trying to hide the fact that her tank top is pushed most of the way up, and the way that Bobbi’s hand is cupping her breast. 

Bobbi, for her part, seems surprisingly calm. “Hey,” she says, looking over her shoulder. Jemma realizes that she never did get around to telling Bobbi about her roommate. 

Daisy makes this face, this delighted-shocked-smug expression, followed by a laugh. “ _Hi_ ,” she says. “I don’t think we’ve met.” 

Bobbi sort of shrugs, as much as she can without moving either of her hands. “Hey. I’m Bobbi.” 

“Nice,” Daisy says, but she’s looking straight at Jemma when she says it. “Anyway, I’m just going to grab some coffee. You two have fun making out.” 

Jemma sort of crumples against Bobbi’s shoulder and sighs, because Daisy’s grin says _you’re telling me everything about this later_ , and she's never ever going to hear the end of this. 

“So, I have a roommate,” she sort of huffs out, once Daisy's left. 

“I figured,” Bobbi says. Then she leans down for another kiss, as if they hadn't been interrupted it all. 

Jemma leans back, surprised. "What are you doing?"

It's not that she doesn't want to, because she _absolutely_ does, but she'd assumed that the moment for any more kissing had passed with Daisy's interruption. Bobbi leans in and bites at Jemma’s lower lip. As she pulls away, her expression breaks into a slow, hungry smile, the kind that Jemma feels between her legs. “I’m having fun making out,” she says. “Obviously.”

“ _Obviously._ ” Jemma parrots back. Maybe a little more kissing wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all.


End file.
